


Raindrops

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Pegging, also a love letter to Catfish, butt stuff, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: You wake up on a rainy morning, in bed with Frankie.
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales & Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Raindrops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilookedback](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilookedback/gifts).



It’s raining outside. The drops hit the window pane over and over, the drumming soothing, comforting. There’s no reason to get up, not when Francisco sleeps beside you, his chest rising and falling. He looks younger like this; totally relaxed, impossibly handsome. His thicket of milk-chocolate hair weaves around a face sculpted by angels who’d had a particularly creative day, one kissing a crease into his bottom lip to signal a job well done. 

One arm is thrown over his head in slumber, and the duvet has ridden down to mid-chest, exposing a body that’s getting a little bit soft at the edges. You love that. You love his broadness. The slight slope of his tummy. The breadth of his shoulders. The sound of your name, or simply the sound of him rasping “oh,  _ honey, _ ” when he comes inside you.

You’re getting turned on just gazing at him. You glance at the clock; it isn’t too early. And you know Francisco never minds being woken if it’s by you, naked.

You snuggle in next to him. He murmurs, but doesn’t properly stir. Perfect.

You start by kissing his shoulder. Breathing in the scent of him, Old Spice and the faintest hint of motor oil and underneath, something  _ uniquely _ Frankie, that you know no cosmetic company could ever replicate.

Leaning up on an elbow, you watched his brow furrow slightly as you ghost your lips across his chest, laving one flat nipple and then the other.

Lower down the bed, a small tent starts to appear in the duvet and you smile. 

Francisco mumbles something that sounds like “need you, sweet girl,” but doesn’t wake up. You watch his free hand move under the covers, know he’s lazily stroking himself, and it makes you wetter. He’s probably having a hell of a dream, and you’re about to improve it.

You let your hair stroke over his bare chest as you kiss your way down his sternum and over his tummy. The little bit of softness there never fails to endear you to him. Francisco Morales is a hard man in many ways; war has given him rough edges that perhaps weren’t there before he’d enlisted, before Colombia, before Redfly’s funeral, but he shares his little softnesses with you. The physical, like his gently softening middle, and the mental, like his endearments and his carefulness the first time he’d made love to you.

Below his navel the happy trail starts, and you gently push the duvet down, exposing the path to what you know is a real good time.

In no rush, you breathe in the scent of his skin as you kiss your way down the short, gently curling hair that points to his cock. One more lift of the duvet and you spend a few happy moments watching him slowly jerking off, his broad palm, long-fingered hand wrapped around his erection, full mast, the head already shiny with pre-cum.

You glance back at his face, his eyes closed, brows furrowed, breath coming in pants. 

“Come on baby, come on baby,” he’s groaning, voice husky from hours of sleep, and the rasp of it makes your muscles clench in anticipation.

You kiss your way down over his hip, towards your goal.

His hand goes still, and you know he’s awake.

“Whoa,” he breathes, and you look up and meet his lust-blown eyes. “Was having a fuckin’ fantastic dream, honey.” He smiles lazily. “Even better to wake up and find out it’s real.”

You grin, dot another kiss on his hip, cover his hand with your smaller one. “Don’t stop. It’s hot, watching you get yourself off.”

For a few moments you stroke him together, Francisco’s free hand sliding into your hair, rubbing circles into that sensitive spot at the base of your skull, making you purr. And then it isn’t enough and you want to taste him, so you stay his hand and lean down to run your tongue over the swollen head of him. He’s muttering a rasping mix of Spanish and English as he arches his hips to push further into your mouth, and you tease him, licking him slowly, languidly, taking a little of him into your mouth but not as much as he wants.

“ _ Fuck, _ honey,” he groans, and you squeeze his shaft and suck lightly on the head until his groan tapers on and he’s panting, hips bucking, and watching him come undone is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You wanna come like this?” you ask against his slick skin. “Or you want...something else?”

You’ve only done the  _ something else _ to him once, and it was on a quiet morning like this, when you’d had no plans, nothing on the slate but indulging in each other.

You glance up at him, and he blows out a breath; nods shakily.

You give his cock one last kiss, circling your tongue the way he likes. “Turn over, baby.”

His eyes go dark and he obeys, and you drop a kiss on his perfect ass, and open the bedside drawer for the lube. This stuff is silky soft and carries the faintest scent of strawberries; it’s your favourite.

You slick your fingers and gaze down at Francisco. His face is turned to the side and his eyes flick to yours, dark, hot, pleading. His whole body  _ almost _ trembles like he’s struggling not to fuck the mattress. You love him at his most dominant - hanging on to the headboard while he fucks you into oblivion, his hips snapping into yours, but you also love him like  _ this, _ love seeing the vulnerability few have ever shared with him. The absolute trust.

“Ready?” You ask.

He nods jerkily, spreads his legs.

You take your time to slide your unslicked hand up his thigh, loving the play of muscle there, the light smattering of hair. You brush your knuckles against the meat of his balls and he shivers. “Quit playing.” It’s almost a growl and your muscles clench in anticipation of seeing him utterly unravelled.

“I’m getting there.” You smooth your wet hand between his cheeks and he sighs; his eyes close, lashes thick and dark against his fantastic cheekbones. Perhaps he’d have been a model in another life.

You find his entrance and circle it teasingly a few times, making sure he is ready; nice and relaxed, and then you slip just the tip of your index finger in. He tenses, but you don’t withdraw, letting him adjust.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” he grits out.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I..  _ fuck. _ More.”

You ease in a bit further, sliding past the tight ring of muscle, seeking out the spongy spot that damn near killed him the last time you did this.

Francisco mutters something that sounds like “ _ oh, fuck me. _ ”

“I am,” you whisper against his back. You slip your finger in a bit further, and there it is.

“ _ Holy shit. _ ” His voice has dropped an octave and his hips automatically dip into the mattress. “Christ.  _ Fuck _ . Don’t stop, honey.”

“I won’t.” You kneel up, slide your other hand under his body and wrap your fingers around his achingly hard cock. You don’t have the leverage to stroke him but it doesn’t matter; he’s already so wet from his own arousal, fucking your fist in time with the little strokes you’re performing inside him. “Oh, baby, you’re so hot like this.”

He’s beyond speech, one hand clenched in his tangle of hair, a litany of half formed swear words and praises in two languages falling from his lips as you zero in on the sensitive little spot inside him and massage it ruthlessly.

“ _ Fuuuccckkk,” _ he groans, and he fucks into your hand, into the mattress, and you press down once, twice, a third time inside him, and his back arches for a second and he groans deeply into the pillow, and you feel the hot rush of his come over your hand as he shudders through his orgasm. You work him through it and he’s relaxed around your finger as you stroke that little spot and tease the fingers of your other hand over the sensitive ridge of vein on his cock.

“Oh  _ fuck. Fuck, _ enough,” he whispers, and you pull out of him, ease off your hold on his softening dick. He’s trembling on the bed, and you drop a kiss on his back and go to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

When you come back, he’s still there, eyes open but in a sort of daze, blinking slowly.

You smooth your hand down his back, and he’s so broad and warm, and you  _ adore _ him. “You okay?”

He chuckles, sounded winded. “I’m very much okay.”

You slide the warm washcloth between his cheeks, wipe him down. “We need to wash the sheets.”

Francisco sits up, gathers you close. “C’mere a minute first. Thank you, honey.” He kisses you deeply, and you rub your fingers on the patchy scruff you love so much, and he makes a sort of purr in his throat.

“You can thank me properly in the shower.”

And oh, he does.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
